His whole strength lay in his wig, and a certain slow, measured intonation which he found often attracted attention to what he said, and gave his tiresome anecdotes of John Kemble, Munden, and Mathews the semblance of a point they never possessed. Latterly, however, he had grown deaf, and, like most who suffer under that infirmity, taken to speaking in a whisper so low as to be inaudible, a piece of politeness for which even our reader will be grateful, as it will spare him the misery of his twaddle. Haggerstone and he were intimates were it not a profanation of the word, we should say friends. They were, however, always together; and Haggerstone took pains to speak of his companion as a “monstrous clever fellow, who required to be known to be appreciated.” Jekyl probably discovered the true secret of the alliance in the fact that they always talked to each other about the nobility, and never gave them their titles, an illusory familiarity with Dukes and Earls that appeared to render them supremely happy. Richmond, Beaufort, Cleveland, and Stanley were in their mouths as “household words.” After all, it was a harmless sort of pastime; and if these “Imaginary Conversations” gave them pleasure, why need we grumble? We have scruples about asking our reader even to a description of the Ricketts's dinner. It was a true Barmecide feast. There was a very showy bouquet of flowers: there was a lavish display of what seemed silver; there was a good deal of queer china and impracticable glass; in short, much to look at, and very little to eat. Of this fact the Pole's appreciation was like an instinct, and as the entrees were handed round, all who came after him became soon aware of. Neither the wine nor the dessert were temptations to a long sitting, and the party soon found themselves in the drawing-room. “Son Excellence is going to England?” said the Pole, addressing Foglass, who had been announced as an Ambassador; “if you do see de Count Ojeffskoy, tell him I am living here, as well as a poor exile can, who have lost palaces, and horses, and diamonds, and all de rest.” “Ah! the poor dear Count!” sighed Mrs. Ricketts, while Martha prolonged the echo. “You carry on the war tolerably well, notwithstanding,” said Haggerstone, who knew something of the other's resources in piquet and ecarte. “Carry on de war!” rejoined he, indignantly; “wid my fader, who work in de mines; and my beautiful sisters, who walk naked about de streets of Crakow!” “What kind of climate have they in Crak-Crak-Crak--” A fit of coughing finished a question which nobody thought of answering; and Purvis sat down, abashed, in a corner. “Arthur, my love,” said Mrs. Ricketts, she was great at a diversion, whenever such a tactic was wanted, “do you hear what Colonel Haggerstone has been saying?” “No, dearest,” muttered the old General, as he worked away with rule and compass.